


Training Wheels

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9590957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo didn't expect Phasma's first time to be with another woman.





	

“You must have been interested in other men,” Kylo says, shaking his head at her insistence.  


“Who says it had to be men?”  


That makes him perk right up, sitting tall in the chair. “Oh?”

“What if my fantasies were about other women, Kylo?”  


He hadn’t entertained that thought before. He himself had not been one for extensive fantasising, but he was of the opinion most people had at least _some_ internal life where they had riotous sex with anyone they considered physically (or maybe emotionally) suitable.

But for whatever reason, he’d thought his mental ‘competition’ would be other men. Although he had absolutely no reason to suspect she was heterosexual, he had no reason to suspect otherwise, either.

Kylo bites his lip, trying on this new idea: Phasma with another woman. 

For some reason, it isn’t as threatening to him as her thinking about a man. It’s not like he has direct competition, and so it’s a safer image, and one he’s oddly not as jealous about. 

“…do you like women as much?”  


“I think so,” she admits.   


“Have you… ever?”  


She nods. “Once. We were experimenting. No emotional ties, just… blowing off steam.”

Definitely interesting. Kylo himself doesn’t have a long dance card, and he’s never pried into her _actual_ past before, wanting to leave it to her discretion. But she did bring this up, in a round-about way, and now he’s thinking even more deeply about it.

“How… uh, can I ask about it?”  


“You can ask, I may not answer.”  


“Does it bother you if I ask?”  


She shakes her head. “I enjoyed it, but it was never going to be anything other than two close friends scratching itches. It’s not like you and me.”

“So…”  


“What do you want to know?”  


***

By some mutual agreement, there was no kissing on the lips. That was the only taboo, though, and Phasma ran her mouth across the other woman’s brow. Over the soft skin of her cheek, down to her throat. 

She tasted each swallowed breath, where it formed in the other woman’s throat. Fingers stroking her scalp, feeling every bump, as she explored how she thought she wanted to be touched herself.

Down, over her neck and to the little just of bones. Into the dips, as her fingers stroked over the clothing by her waist. Teasing, not yet pushing it up. Touches to Phasma’s ear, to her eyebrows, to her nose, to her lips. Soft contact that Phasma turned to kiss, licking at a fingertip as her own burrowed under clothing.

She pushed her fingers under fabric, glancing over a slightly squishy belly, feeling the slow rise of her own arousal at the thought of being touched in return. Hands stroking down to her neck, and she eased fabric up, tasting skin and enjoying the vibrating moans under her mouth.

The other woman helped her out of her shirt, pulling it over her head, and tugged Phasma’s breasts to her mouth. Fingers over the bra, mouth over the balcony. Soft lips, little licks.

She worked her hand over the other’s hips, waist, thighs. Firm strokes, pulling blood to the surface. Her leg cocked over the woman’s, her groin given a knee to grind into as she pushed her own knee up to her partner’s crotch, the lightest of pressure for them both.

The other’s sighs and tiny nudges of requests spurred her on, and she kissed at her forehead as her breasts were freed, hanging down heavy and ponderous. Licks and sucks to her nipples, and Phasma applied a little blunt nail-scratch to the other’s thighs and belly.

Hands urged her to turn, and they curled around like complimentary punctuation. Her body was longer, but that didn’t cause a problem. One leg cocked, and she used her fingers to tease her open, peering close-up for the first time at something that looked like herself. She rubbed a little too hard, and was hissed at until she eased off. Gentler strokes, around and around, pulling and tugging and feeling where there was give, where there was none.

The shock of a hot tongue between her lips, so different to her own fingers, or a semi-solid toy. Wet and sliding, and she’d done the same in return. The taste was stronger than she’d expected, but not unpleasant, and she’d held the woman open so she could lick deeper. Long swipes with no real intricacy, and then Phasma had fingers inside of her, frigging her roughly as the tongue worked that sensitive spot she knew so well.

Well, of course Phasma had wanted to ‘win’. You had to ‘win’ everything, and that meant making your partner climax best and first, too. Two fingers, three, sloppy licks and slurps and a wrist and upper arm that ached from the friction. Broken whimpers over her snatch, and she started to suckle firmly on the other’s clit.

Phasma is sure - from her memory - that she got the other woman to climax first. She lost count of how many times they both saw stars, but that first victory will always be the sweetest, and the best. It also made her more aware of her own body, her own likes and dislikes, and kept her happy with her own hand for many, many years to follow.

No regrets, not one.

***

Kylo stares, slack-jawed, his black clothing reaching for the ceiling.

“So. How about you?” she asks, stroking two fingers over the front of her clothes, feeling the dampness spreading below.  


She doubts his first time will have been as good as hers, but then… how many people could hold up to that? 

“Uhm…”  


“Show me,” she insists, and lets her legs fall apart in invitation. Show me on me.


End file.
